Poem #80

Blame not the rakes, pure-minded saint, nor take that view

another's sin will never stain the scroll for you.

Be I good or be I ill, go tend to you

each soul will harvest only what it grew.

Each soul pursues the Friend, both lucid and debauched

Love's house stands everywhere, both mosque and chapel watched.

My yielding head with tavern brick stay close forever

if some accuser understands it not, say head and brick together.

Do not deny me hope in mercy's ancient well

behind the veil, how could you judge who's fair or fell?

I am not alone in falling from devotion's clasp

my father also lost eternal heaven's grasp.

Hafez, if at death you raise a cup within your fist

straight from the tavern's lane you'll rise to heaven's mist.